


(It's a) Long Lonely Highway

by katthegreat



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: "I have seen God and he is a drug addict in a vault suit.", Eventual Romance, Multi, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katthegreat/pseuds/katthegreat
Summary: The story of one 'Sam W. Cole' and her rampage across the Mojave Wasteland.





	1. Introduction, Part I

Samantha Wendell Cole is born March 7th, 2265 in a tiny, cramped shack made out rusted, corrugated metal, located in the vast labyrinth of slums that wrap around the outskirts of Shady Sands. Dad's absent-serving his third tour of duty in the NCR in the Northern Pacification campaigns. Mom raises her kids as best she can, teaches them reading, writing, arithmetic, bandages their boo-boos, teaches 'em how to fire a BB gun at rad-roaches, the usual. Sends them to school when they're old enough. The oldest of the three-Kara-proves to be intelligent enough to go from the shitty public school to a Followers of the Apocalypse-ran-'school for the academically gifted'. Joey-the middle child-manages to just squeak by. Sam excels, albeit not to the same extent as Kara.

Dad pops in from time to time. As the girls grow, he does so less and less frequently. He fights with Mom more and more. Whenever he shows up, Kara just happens to always be occupied with an after-school club activity. Joey tries to distract Sam in their shared bedroom as best she can.

One night, as a 10-year old Joey is trying to read Sam to sleep, their argument gets more intense than usual. Voices raise louder and louder and louder-and then are suddenly cut off with the sound of flesh hitting against flesh.

Dad finally leaves the army and returns home for good in 2273. A 14 year-old Kara immediately signs up for the Follower's outreach program, leaving for New Vegas.

(She doesn't look back)

Joey, 12, does her best to defend her little sister and her mom from an abusive father.

She falls in with a group of raiders and drops off the map three years later.

(She doesn't look back)

Dad gets worse over the next year, drinks more and more, starts waving his gun around and threatening Mom and Sam. One night, after he collapses on the couch, reeking of cheap whiskey, she sneaks into the living room. She's gotten good at sneaking around him. She quietly slides the 9mm pistol from his hand, screws on the silencer she 'borrowed' from a local shop, and blows his brains out.

At the age of 12, Sam W. Cole skips Shady Sands.

She doesn't look back.

She starts running packages around the wasteland for caps. Her travels take her everywhere. Klamath, The Boneyard, Baja, Arroyo, Redding.

Hopeville.

She doesn't look back.

She takes any and every contract she gets, making a name for herself in the process.

In her head, she's still running away.

From her father.

From her broken home.

From the tangled mess of anger, guilt, hatred, and self-loathing that exists in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Sam is 16 when the Mojave Express contracts her and 5 other courier to run packages to the New Vegas Strip.

She's 16 when a man in a checkered suit blows a chunk of brain matter outta her head and steals her package.

She's 16 when she dies in a shallow grave outside Goodsprings.


	2. Intro II

_"-Time to cash out.-"_

**“-Bull and Bear over the Dam, at each other's throats.-"**

_"made your last delivery, kid-"_

**"-two to the skull, yet one gets up-"**

**"- a light from Vegas-"**

_"-18 karat run of bad luck-"_

**"-Playing the hand you've been dealt-"**

_"-Truth is-"_

**" -don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack-"**

_"-The game was rigged from the start-"_

**"- Forecast: A rain of blood will flood the desert and not purify it.'**

_-*BANG*-_

**"-just numbers after the two-to-one. "**

**"-Forecast: Rapidly changing conditions."**

On a operating table in Goodsprings, Sam W. Cole, with a long gasp and a shudder, is born a second time.


	3. Back in the Saddle Again

"Bandit."

"Reason."

"Light."

She frowns. "Dark."

"Mother."

She pauses. "Regret."

He raises an eyebrow at that, and then moves on to the personality profile.

-

It's been two weeks since Victor dropped what Doc Mitchell initially assumed was a teenage corpse off at his doorstep, and a week since, after several days of intensive and anxiety-gripping surgery. she woke up for long enough for him to ask for her name and give a basic medical inspection before she fell asleep again. She stops continually nodding off after the 3rd day, and is well enough to hobble around Goodsprings on crutches by the fifth.

Her name is Sam, and she can't remember much else about herself before a 9mm slug grazed her hippocampus. She thinks she's maybe 15 or 16-he would have guessed 12 or 13, but then maybe that's just because of her height.

She tries to kick him in the shins when he express this sentiment out loud.

-

She quickly integrates into the Goodsprings community. Sunny teaches her how to shoot-not that she seems to need the lesson-and how to hunt. Easy Pete shows her how to effectively scavenge the ruins that surround Goodsprings. Trudy regales her with stories she's picked up from the wasteland travelers who pass through Goodsprings. She quickly settles into a daily routine, waking up a the crack of dawn to make coffee and cook up a Gecko steak, before heading off into the wasteland. She comes back at 2 in the afternoon, loaded down with gecko skins, with radroach meat, with radscorpion glands, or with supplies scavenged from nearby ruins. She sells what she doesn't want, gives any spare medical supplies to the Doc, and heads off to the bar for dinner.

Slowly, she pieces together enough information about her attacker to start formulating a plan.

-

I stare at the winding trail that leads up the hill upon which the Goodsprings cemetery sits.

I slowly breathe in and out. I can do this.

I start walking, and I'm about halfway up before-

_A garish black-and-white checkered suit._

_A silvery-white pistol._

_Sheer, unadulterated fear._

When I come back, I've collapsed to my knees, and I'm taking huge gaps of air.

I manage to pick myself up, wipe the desert sand off my jumpsuit, and start walking again.

I hit the top.

This is it.

This is where I-

Where I almost-

Where-

I breath in. and out. and in. aaaand out. I can do this.

I stroll across the graveyard, glancing around looking for-

I almost fall into it.

A rectangular hole, approximately six feet by three feet wide, and maybe two feet deep.

My would-be grave.

-

I'm walking back into town- a baggie of fancy cigarettes and a Vault-Tec brand snowglobe now weighing down my duffel bag-when I see a sight that makes my blood freeze. Three men in blue prison guard uniforms, stalking towards the Saloon.

I gradually pick up my pace, and barely manage to beat them to the door.

"Trudy, Powder Gangers!"

Her eyes widen before they narrow. She glances at Sunny (sipping a coffee as she read from a copy of _Shady Digest_ ), and they both grab their weapons.

-

By the time I've made it out the door, the conversation is almost already over.

"-I'm done being nice. If you don't hand Ringo over soon, I'm going to get my friends and we're burning this town to the ground, got it? "

"We'll keep that in mind. Now, if you're not going to buy something, _get out_."

Trudy and the lead Powder Ganger scowl at each other for another couple seconds before he growls and stalks off.

She watches him walk off into the distance, and we head back in.

I slide onto a bar stool. "What was that all about?"

She sighs. "It looks like our little town got itself dragged into the middle of something we don't want anything to do with. About a week ago, this trader, Ringo, comes into town. Survivor of an attack, he says. Bad men after him, needs a place to hide.

We figured he was just in shock, so we gave him a place to lie low. We didn't actually expect anyone to come after him."

"Hmm." I stoke my chin. "Just out curiosity, where's Ringo now?"

"He's holed up at the abandoned gas station up the hill. "

I nod, and slide off the bar stool.

Goodsprings had been exceptionally kind to me. It was time to repay the favor.


	4. Gunfight at Midnight

Three days later, the normally peaceful and quiet ambiance of the Goodsprings Saloon was all but a thing of the past. Around a table(composed of three smaller tables that had been pushed together) sat, stood, or leaned a majority of the Goodsprings population, engaged in loud, ferocious, heated debate.

"Look, all I'm saying is, we don't even know for sure if Cobb weren't just blowin' off some hot air." Chet, proprietor of the Goodsprings General Store, and impromptu leader of what I had mentally come to term the 'pacifist' side of the debate, spoke up. The crowd surrounding him, composed mostly of the town's shopkeepers, nodded their heads and whispered vague affirmatives to each other. "Even if he is, why not just give him Ringo? Goodsprings doesn't need to risk it's livelihood over some... jackass trader who was too impatient to just wait until the NCR clears out the Powder Gangers and makes the roads safe again!"

Across the table, Sunny Smiles snorts. "Yeah right, I'm sure that's gonna happen any day now. Face it, Chet, it's been weeks, and the NCR hasn't so much as made a move against the Powder Gangers. Hell, from what I heard, they even managed to lose Primm to those gangsters! And Primm was at least important enough to warrant a NCR military presence in the first place. Compared to that, we're easy pickings! I'm telling you, the Powder Gangers are just gettin' themselves nice and ready to launch a surprise attack on the town. Cobb is probably just a...a scout. He's seein' how much resistance Goodsprings will give 'em. I say, we show them exactly how much, in the form of as many 5.56 rounds as we can muster!" Around Sunny, I joined in with the crowd of local hunters and farmers whooping and cheering.

Chet glared at her. "And if we lose? I don't know about you, Miss Smiles, but I don't much fancy my shop getting blown into a thousand pieces-"

"-oh, but it's okay if the Powder Gangers make it damn-near impossible for us to hunt or scavenge the area? It's okay if we put our livelihoods at risk, so long as your precious shop doesn't suffer harm? You know what, Chet, I've just about had enough with-"

_Blam!_

The blast of a .357 Revolver immediately silenced the room. After a moment, Trudy, owner of the Saloon and town mom, dropped her pistol hand back into a resting position. "Folks, please, it's been three days! Can we please have some sort of conclusion to this stand-off? Preferably one that does not end in bloodshed?"

Meanwhile, I quietly pushed my way through the mass of bodies, slipping out the back door of the Saloon while the argument continued on without conclusion.

On the steps sat Ringo, smoking a cigarette, and using a upturned empty crate which, in a different time, had housed a collection of Sunset Sarsaparillas, as a makeshift table to play a solitary card game. As I quietly closed the door and stepped down, the Crimson Caravan trader looked up. How he had gotten ambushed, I'll never know-the man has the reflexes of a coyote. "Sammy! Samantha! Samuela! Fancy meeting you here! How are things going? Am I to be sacrificed to appease the gods of all that go boom, or do I live to see another day?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Samuela?-you know what, never mind. To answer your questions, my good sir, your fate is as of yet undecided. Chet continues to be an asshole who I wish to bury in a shallow grave. The world keeps spinning." I sigh, and drop to the ground in front of Chet. "Whatcha playin? can I join in?" "Well, it's called solitaire, and, as the name implies, you functionally can not. However, I am up for a game of Caravan..?" I thought for a second, and scrunched up my face. "Naaaaah. I can never remember the rules. Are you sure people actually play this? Like, voluntarily?"

Ringo rolled his eyes, but I could see him fighting back a grin. "If not for the fact that you are but a child, I would slaughter you were you sit for such a grievous insult to caravaneer culture."

"Pffft, please. you love me. And, I am not a child, thank you very much."

"You legally, biologically, and like, socially, are!"

"Oh, whatever. I vaguely recall making a '80 run to Utah when I was like 13! Have you even been to Utah, Ringo? Ringonathan? Ringasu?"

The bastard broke out into a cocky grin. "I have, actually. And-wait! I thought you said you couldn't remember anything before you crawled out a Goodsprings grave, clutching a rifle and thirsty for revenge? Is that a fib I detect, young lady?"

I waved my hand in the air. "Nah, I couldn't at first. Just like, the few minutes before I go shot. Stuff is gradually re-appearing, though."

"Ahhh, I see. Anything about why you're running packages and, not, like, cheerleading? Shoplifting? What do teenage girls do for fun, anyway? I was... not exactly the ladies man back when I was in school, I'll admit."

"I'm shocked, Ringo! Simply shocked! And naw, I still haven't been able to remember anything specific. Just like, vague memories of stuff whose importance I can't really place."

Ringo nodded, while reaching in his Crimson Caravan bag and pulling out two Sunsets. "Shame, that." He set the Sunsets on the crate, and jammed his hands into his pockets, rooting around for a minute, before pulling out a bottle opener, which he then used to crack open both bottles, one of which he handed to me. "Managed to break open that vending machine at the gas station with a folding chair, and got these out. Figured I'd give you one. Can't really make up for you helping me out like this, but-" I snatched it from his hands.

"Hey, don't worry about it, man. Like I said, we share a common goal in defeating these Power Gangers fuckheads, right? That way,I can get to Primm and have a chat with the Mojave Express admin there, and you can make your way safely back to the Crimson Caravan office. This helps both of us!"

"Suppose so. Still, I appreciate it, Sam."

"mmhmm."

We sat in a peaceful silence for a while, staring off at the horizon, until Ringo shot up suddenly. "Oh shit, speak of the devil. Powder Gangers."

In a flash, I went from about to doze off to fully alert. "What? Where? My rifle, where's my rifle?" I begin glancing around. I had left it at the Doc's place.

"Don't worry-well, worry a bit. They look like they're setting up a camp or something. There's maybe ten or twelve of 'em?"

I grimaced. "Assuming they're equipped with dynamite, that might be enough to destroy the town. That said, I think...I think they might be, like a forward camp or whatever. They're preparing for a larger group to arrive. I-I need to tell the others."

He nodded. "Alright. I'll go hide in the station. No need for them to have more reason to attack the town." I nodded back. "Alright." Ringo darted behind the general store, and I walked back into the chaos of the Saloon. It had only gotten worse since I left. I could barely hear myself think, and a dozen voices seemed to be shouting at each other

"Hey, g-guys?"

"-OH PLEASE, YOU JUST WANT US TO FUND YOUR GALLAVANTING AROUND THE WASTES, YOU LAZY BITCH-" "OH, I'M A BITCH, AM I? YOU JUST WANT TO OFFLOAD THE COSTS OF ACTUALLY FINDING THE SHIT YOU SELL ONTO US, YOU SEXIST WINDBAG-"

"guys!" I tried again, to no avail. Trudy had given up even trying to moderate, and was holding her head in her hands, massaging her temples.

"-WE CAME HERE TO ESCAPE THE TYRANNY OF GOVERNMENT DEMANDS, AND NOW YOU WANT TO IMPOSE IT-"

"-SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, CHET, I CAME HERE TO GET AWAY FROM A SOCIETY UNDER THE CONTROL OF RICH PRICKS LIKE YOU-"

"PEOPLE!" I pounded my fists on the table, and finally succeeded in quieting the room. Everyone quickly refocused their attention on me. I gulped. "There's a group of Powder Gangers setting up camp on the outskirts of town. C-Can we please stop arguing about this and actually deal with it, please?"

Sunny suddenly spoke up. "See? we're the next target. I say we strike at them before they have the chance to attack us. Anyone who's willing to fight them and has a gun and ammunition, grab them and meet me in front of the Saloon in 30 minutes. We'll hit them fast and hard." Chet sighed, "Guess this is really happening then. I have a shipment of leather armor that y'all can borrow. If they're gonna force us to play cards, I wanna make sure the deck is at least stacked in our favor." 

* * *

A half-hour later, the sun was sinking beneath the horizon, and a awkward huddle of about 25 men and women was gathered outside the Saloon. Chet was helping the last few into their armor, and Sunny was issuing commands to the rest.

"Keep quiet, and don't shoot until you're right sure you'll hit them. We want to maintain the element of surprise here, folks, so don't do some damn foolish thing and alert them to our presence. I'm gonna have Sam here-"-she pushed me to the front of the crowd-"-scout ahead." she put her hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "Be careful, okay? Powder Gangers tend to place homemade mines around their camps, so watch where you step." I nodded.

"I-I'll do my best, ma'am!" she nodded, then grinned, ruffling my head, before pushing me towards the camp. "Go get 'em, kid!" I nodded, and set off into a steady jog. 

* * *

Joe Cobb hammered the last tent nail into the dry Mojave ground and stood up, glancing around the campground. Carl and Luke were dragging crates of supplies out of a motorcycle-drawn camper-one of the ones that the Powder Gangers had 'borrowed' from the caravans who refused to pay the protection charge. Meanwhile, six others were pulling the corpses of pre-war cars off the road, and propping them on their sides, forming a crude wall around the small collection of tents that had been erected, enough to house 50 or so men. A few more Powder Gangers milled around the camp, clutching their shotguns and squinting off into the distance.

Cobb pulled a smoke from the pockets of his guard uniform, and bent down for a moment to light it in the campfire, above which a Gecko was being roasted, before standing back up, and taking a drag, surveying the camp.

In about 2 hours, the first of the small army Eddie had afforded him would begin to arrive from the Correctional Facility, and then he would destroy whatever petty resistance this ass-end of nowhere could offer, and-a grin stretched out across his face at the thought- reign as it's fucking king.

* * *

Hiding in a bush, I squinted through binoculars at the camp. A group of prisoners were hoisting up a ring of cars around the camp's tent. In the middle, Joe Cobb stood beside a roaring campfire and gazed out at the camp. Behind him, two men were dragging crates out of a pre-war camper with a Crimson Caravan logo painted onto it. a few others strolled around the camp, clutching rifles, and peering off into the distance, looking for-well, for someone like me.

Besides me, a pile of disarmed powder charges I had collected sat besides me. I had discovered, in a rush of panic after my foot had landed to close to one and set off it's beeping, that if you were quick enough, you could rip the sensor module off before it sparked the blasting powder inside. I pulled out my walkie talkie, and radioed back to Goodsprings.

_KSSHSH_

"H-Hey Trudy, I, uh, I made it to the camp without being detected. There's only about a dozen or so Powder Gangers here, but they're buildin' a camp meant for, like, way more. Um, they've only just started to erect a defensive perimeter, s-so now would be the ideal time to strike. I've disarmed all the powder charges. I,uhh..Over?

_KSSHSH_

"gotcha, kiddo. I'll tell Sunny and others to begin their attack. Over!"

_KSSHSH_

I begin putting the powder charges in my bag, and reach for my rifle. The night-vision scope that Chet had nickle-and-dimed me for earlier in the week proved a wise investment, allowing me to clearly see the camp, shrouded in the night. After a small wait I heard a stream of boots quietly creep along the desert, and looked up from my scope, seeing the small Goodsprings militia, made up mostly of the town's hunters, and a few farmers and shopkeepers, including Trudy, who walked alongside Sunny and her dog Cheyenne, at the front of the pack.

I glanced back into the scope, and watched as they poured down the hills, into the camp, leaving the Gangers no time to react as the sounds of gunshots and surprised screams filled the air, followed a few minutes later by the sizzling of fuses and the loud bangs of dynamite. I silently took aim, and begin picking off the Powder Gangers. This would be easier with a spotter, but alas, I did not have that luxury. From a distance, I watched the battle play out.

Sunny drew first blood, nailing a Powder Ganger-wearing only a cowboy hat and jeans-square in the forehead. The others quickly got over their surprise and begin to fire at the militia, which broke apart fairly quickly, ducking behind what little cover the tents and car wall provided. Another one sprinted to a wooden crate, and begin pulling out sticks of dynamite, lighting them and throwing them at various locations throughout the camp, forcing the Goodspringers out of their hiding spots. I took aim at him-his bright red baseball bat made him a rather easy target- and fired. The shot whistled past him, dinging one of the motorbikes instead. I swore and reloaded, taking aim again. He had sprinted into the camper and was hiding behind the door. In the meantime, the Goodspringers had again gained the upper hand, having wiped out nearly half the Powder Gangers by this point. Cobb was-wait. Where was he? I took my eyes away from my scope. I couldn't see him anywhere. I looked through my binoculars at the camp. It was like he had just disappeared. Weird.

While I had been distracted, the Powder Gangers in the camper had darted out, making an go for the dynamite again. I quickly fired off a shot, and to my own surprise managed to hit him in the leg. He fell over, screaming and clutching at the bullet wound as blood begin to flow onto his clothes and the sand. I took another shot, and hit him in the lower jaw, after which he stopped moving. I breathed a sigh of relief, and glanced around the campground. Seeing no remaining Powder Gangers, I begin to stand up. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I felt a body slam into me, pummeling me with a mad fury. Acting on instinct,I pushed my attacker off, and spun around. I blinked in confusion. There was no one there.

"W-Who's there? Show yourself, ya fuckin' coward!"

I felt a boot slam directly into my face, throwing me across the ground, landing in a heap several yards away.

"You fucking motherfucking asshole cunt BITCH!" I heard a voice howl. In front of me the air begin to shimmer and ripple, and seemingly out of nowhere, Joe Cobb emerged into existence.

"Eddie is going to fucking KILL me!" He screeched and kicked the side of my stomach. I let out a "fuck!" and begin to crawl as fast I could towards my duffel bag. He sprinted after me, and slammed his boot into my back. I let out a howl of pain, and begin twisting and writhing under him. He reached into his holster- _oh no please no god please_ -and pulled out a revolver- _fuck shit no please sir no don't please i_ \- he pulled back the trigger. "But hey, at least I can get some fuckin' revenge before he does. Sorry, kid. From where you're lying"- _Oh **fuck** no_-" this must seem like-"

"NO!"

I suddenly felt my body move, as if forced by a power beyond my control. I spun around in the air, and

\- my left foot hit the top of his back, and-

my right foot hit the small of his spine, and-

the whole world was suddenly wrapped in a green mesh wire, and-

his revolver was flung into the air, and-

I stuck my hand out, and caught it, and-

"Die, you fucking prick!" I fired the gun at the back of his forehead, and-

collapsed onto the ground, letting the revolver slip away. My ears were suddenly filled with the breezy and confident sound of a saleman's voice.

"Hello, Vault 21 Inhabitant {ERROR;: US3R N#T FO@ND}. By entering into a close-range combat situation, you have activated the Vault-Tec Assisted Tactical System, or V.A.T.S for short, contained within your RobCo Pip-Boy 3000. V.A.T.S works by latching onto and interfacing with your body's nervous system, augmenting your body's physical capabilities considerably, and allowing-"

I promptly fainted onto the cold dry ground.


	5. I Fought the Law (And Everyone Died)

For the second time in a uncomfortably short period of time, I woke up to the quiet but industrious hum of Doc Mitchell's ceiling fan. Hauling myself off the mattress where I had been laid to rest, I dragged myself through the hallways of the Doc's house, and, after, shoving myself into my Vault 21 jumpsuit, stumbled into the living room, staring out at it through blearily eyes.

While I slumbered, the place had undergone a drastic remodeling. All the furniture had been shoved into a corner, and in it's place was a dozen or so makeshift cots, in which a number of injured Goodspringers were resting. Doc Mitchell glided through the room, barking orders at a fleet of assistants in lab coats. I took this all in for a minute, and then hazily stumbled out the front door, and across the front porch, shielding my eyes as they adjusted to the sun.

I let out a faint gasp. ' _How long was I out?_ '

What once was a peaceful farming town had apparently become a vast training camp for a small army. Leather armor-clad Goodsprings Militia members ran up and down the main road in two-by-six formations, one squad being led by the slightly-creepy Securitron who had found me in the graveyard. Off the main road, Sunny Smiles appeared to be teaching a squad of new recruits-' _new recruits? where'd they come from?_ '-to shoot their rifles straight.

Further away, Easy Pete seemed to be advising a small crowd on the proper care and handling of dynamite. In the distance, I could see figures building what I could only guess were the frames of houses. Others seemed to be using brahmin to haul the rusted remains of pre-war cars into Goodsprings, and adding them into the still-being-built town wall.

"Sam! Over here!"

I turned my head to see Ringo, face smeared with oil and clutching a wrench, standing in front of the gas station and gesturing for me to come over with his hands.

"Ringo!" I ran over to him. "What the hell's going on, man? How long was I out?"

"You haven't been out for too long, maybe twelve or so hours. And, well, it looks like Goodsprings has got itself tangled up in a bit of turf war."  
"Turf war? Whaddya mean?"

"Well, after we raided that Powder Ganger camp, we managed to get one of them alive, and he let slip that they were just waiting for the main force to get there-about 50 or so guys. We found those powder charges you'd disarmed, and used them-along with a few demolition charges we found on the Powder Gangers-to mine the main road.  


A few hours later, they show up and set off one of the charges. That sets off all the others, obviously, and that alone wiped out like half of 'em. Then we started raining dynamite on the rest before they had a chance to realize what had happened. Anybody who that didn't get, either deserted basically immediately, or we on foot until we captured or killed them."

"O-oh. So what'd you do with the ones you captured?"

Ringo gestured over to a trailer house in the distance. 

"Put 'em in there for the time being. Figure once we hit the main prison, we'll look for any files that say why they was arrested, let the good ones join the town if they want, hand the bad ones back over to the NCR."

"W-wait, once you attack the main prison? Isn't that, kinda, like, totally suicidal?"

Ringo gave a laugh at that, and shook his head.

"Nah. See, while you were asleep, the militia managed to take out another three Powder Ganger camps that they set up on the 15. That opened up Sloan to us, and they agreed to help. 

The main force-that's not stationed here, anyway-is making it's way to Primm right this very instant. We figure if we can get them to join in this lil' ramshackle alliance we got goin' on, we should have enough to outnumber them by a fair bit. 

That, and...well, I think, it'll be easier to show you. C'mon, follow me, this a-way."

I trailed behind Ringo, walking a short distance to the north of Goodsprings, just before the town's back entrance, and, when we arrived at our destination, let out a gasp.

"No fucking _way_ , dude. You're not thinking you can _fly_ those things?" I said in disbelief, gesturing towards the two rusted-out biplanes which lay in front of us. "Where did those even come from?"

"We scavenged them out an old sky-diving place in the ruins of Jean. Begged Sunny to let us use the brahmin to drag them back here, and now...And, yeah, not only do we plan to fly them, we already have."

"We?-" It was at this point that I noticed, holding a blowtorch in one hand and holding down sheet metal in the other, squinting in supreme concentration at the tail of the plane, a musclebound-( _nice_ )- guy, clad in a ratty tank-top and ripped-up jeans. Dog-tags tangled from his neck, and [a loud and brassy score](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAWIAPQNTtk) spilled out of a pair of headphones around his neck.

I stared at him. Had he been here the whole time? How had I not noticed him? 

"Wh-?" 

"Niner!" Ringo interrupted me.

The man- _boy? he barely looked older then me_ -didn't acknowledge either of us, continuing with his repairs on the plane. A uncomfortably long silence reigned.

"Niner!" Again, nothing.

Finally, he finished with...whatever he was doing, he stood up from his crouched position, and stretched out his back, setting the blowtorch down on the ground, and begin talking to ...himself, apparently. 

"Well done, Niner, you deserve another can of Jet for this, lad!" He swung around-I can only assume to head back to the gas station-and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw us, eyes bulging in shock. 

"T-That is, um. Well, I-uhhhhh. That. That was, um. That. was. a joke?" he sputtered out, the last words coming out with a squeak as his voice cracked, his British _(?)_ accent giving the entire sentence just that much more flavor.

Ringo coughed. "Sam...Niner. Niner, impressible young teenage girl who really does not need to hear about your...habit. Sam, Niner, a former apprentice mechanic from New California-" 

"Yes!" Niner nodded "A _apprentice mechanic_ is what I was. Definitely just that and not anything illegal. I learned my skills from a garage in Reno that was not a illegal chop shop for the Bishop family. That is correct."

Ringo straight-up glared at him. "Can I please finish? Thanks! -A former _apprentice mechanic_ who-y'now what, actually, go ahead and tell her what you did, Nines."  
Niner sighed, and stared at the weathered concrete beneath his feet.

"I might have, kind of, um, slept with my boss's daughter?"

I snorted. "dude, niiice-" 

"-I'm not finished. I slept with my boss's daughter, then stole the key to his safe from his room, then used that to open the store vault, and took, like, ten thousand dollars?"

"Bro-!"

  
"I'm _not_ finished. So, fu-I mean, slept with-my boss's daughter, stole ten thousand dollars from him, and then, knowing that I wouldn't have long before he came looking for me, um. Well. I, uh, stole his prized motorbike, and fled to New Vegas?"

Niner scratched his neck and stared at the ground, looking at it like he was praying for the devil to take him where he stood.

Ringo snorted. "And then he arrived in Vegas and promptly got his bike stolen by Powder Gangers, and got taken prisoner himself. We found him locked in the sky-diving place. Dumbass." He gave Niner's shoulder a light slap.

Niner sighed. "Y'know, I actually really liked his daughter. Sweet Patrica Ray-Cole. P-Ray for short. Honestly, that whole experience was traumatic, and I don't appreciate you trivializing it."

Ringo rolled his eyes. "Sure, man. whatever you say. Now why don't you tell Samantha here what our plans for these fine machines are?"

Niner nodded. "Right, love, so. the plan. Roughly two hours ago, me and my buddy Ringo here took the left of these two aircraft for her maiden voyage. Bit rough to start, but, smooth sailing after that. Landed it, and after doing some repairs on this other lass-" 

He gave the right-hand plane a good thump with the palm of his hand-

"-We're going to take her for a spin shortly. Then. And then. We-with your help, if you would be so kind, Miss Samantha-intend to test out the-how should I put it?-the potential for these lovely ladies to reign high-explosive ordinance-in form of some mini-nukes I got from a guy at Sloan, don't ask how-open our enemies, with our target being the Deathclaw-infested quarry junction near Sloan. After we've had some practice, we'll use them to launch an air assault on the prison, leavin' it nice and vulnerable for the militia to attack.

So what'd you say, young lady? care to join us for some sky-high rape-lizard hunting with explosives?"

I squinted at him for a moment, pondering how to respond, before finally deciding.

"So, like, do you wanna fuck the planes?"

"What-"

"Do you wanna fuck the planes?" I reiterated. "I mean, you sure talk about them like they're adult human woman, in a way that seems to suggest you are physically-and possibly romantically-attracted to them. I think it seems logical to assume you wanna...pound their slutty tailpipes."

"Their what's?!"

"Their tailpipes, man. Their slutty, sloshing, planepussies. Their-"

Ringo sighed. "Sam, please stop following this train of thought, and just answer the poor man."

I sighed. "Fineeeee. Yeah, sure I'll throw mini-nukes at rape-lizards, that sounds really fun actually."

* * *

  
It was really fun, as it turns out. 

Using Goodspring's main road as a runway, Niner and I were lifted into the air by the plane, propeller buzzing nosily as we rose into the chilly fall air, Mojave spread out before us like one of those fancy holographic pre-war maps. My breath caught in my throat as I started out at the world. New Vegas shone like the brightest star in the night sky ahead of us, the Lucky 38 standing above the world like it was Vegas showing it's middle finger to the rest of the wastes. Below, I could make out the shapes of a half-dozen villages and towns. The spiraling monstrosity that was Primm's roller-coaster. The vast outline of the NCR-Ranger Unification monument-' _like NCR showing its dick to all the East._ '- A voice that wasn't mine spoke in my mind. Behind it, a traffic jam of cataclysmic portion, headlights of NCR convoys turning the Long 15 into a giant vein, glowing bright with neon liquid.

"Fuck, dude." I exhaled, reveling in my sense of awe.

In the pilot's cockpit in front of me, Niner laughed. "Ain't she a fuckin' beaut', the Mojave? Don't stay wonder-struck for to long though, we got a package to deliver, courier!"

The plane begin to dip as we approached Sloan. I reached between my legs, where a wooden crate with six mini-nukes inside sat, and pulled two out, cautiously setting one down in my lap, and hefting the other like a football, as I leaned out the passenger seat and looked down, waiting for Quarry Junction to appear beneath me.

Suddenly-

"Now, Sam!"

-It appeared. Squinting furiously at the darkness of the Junction, I searched for a deathclaw, any deathclaw.

and then-

"Now, Sam, now!" Niner's voice was tinged with panic.

-I saw it.

Pitch black, a hulking monstrosity, almost the size of a two-story building, the biggest fucking Deathclaw I'd ever seen. I hurtled the first mini-nuke at it,as it swung it arm towards the plane and let out a terrifying, anger-filled"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAWWWRRRR!!!".

Niner desperately flew the plane up and away from the giant claws of the beast. Finally, the mini-nuke smashed into it's impact zone, and lit the night up. Niner dipped the plane back down, flicking on it's lights as he did so.

"No point in stealth now, they definitely heard that one. Alright, ready your second bomb, we're heading back in."

The plane swung over the quarry again, this time illuminated by the plane's lights. The giant black Deathclaw lay sprawled out over the canyon floor, smaller deathclaws swarming across it's carcass.

I tossed the second bomb into the gathering, and watched it land squarely in the middle, lighting the Deathclaws on fire and throwing them into the air.

"Alright, two more of those, and we'll head back home. Let's not burn any more fuel than we need, aye?" 

We swung around the junction one more time. I managed to hurtle both mini-nukes at once, watching at two more mushroom clouds formed. "I think that's all of them, Niner.

Let's swing back to Goodsprings!"

"I think you're right. Nice aim, kid! Let's go home."

Niner flicked the lights back off, and grabbed the radio mic from his dashboard, pressing a button and speaking into it. "Hey Ringo, we're coming back. Light the runaway, would'ya?"

"Copy that. stay safe, you two. the last thing we want is for you to crash it trying to land."

As the plane flew back, I gazed out into the wasteland, trying to use what little time we still had aloft to memorize how the Mojave looked from the sky. Frowning, I watched as the lights of Nipton-' _a gambling town_ ', my memories supplied- begin to suddenly turn on all at once. ' _An electric malfunction?',_ I pondered.

In a few more minutes, the town was all lit up, it's light's-

-Wait, no. 

Those aren't lights. 

That's fire. 

The whole town was rapidly catching fire, turning into a giant bonfire, a blazing hot funeral pyre for it's soon-to-be former citizens.

"Niner?A-Are you seeing this? Wh-?"

"I-I don't know. Maybe a generator exploded or something?"

I stared at the fire.

"No."

"No?"

"The way it was set, how organized it was...this was deliberate."

"...Jesus."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Niner is from a quest mod on the Nexus, which you can find here; https://www.nexusmods.com/newvegas/mods/48002 )


	6. Character Build

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update to give you a better idea of where Sam is at at this point in her journey. Will put out another chapter soonish™, probably today or tomorrow.

**PIP-BOY**  
**MODEL 3000A**  
**BIOMETRICALLY LOCKED TO:**  
**SAMANTHA W. COLE (16)**  
**CURRENT INTERFACE COLOR:**  
**AMBER**

**STATS**

**S.P.E.C.I.A.L**  
**Strength: {4} 'Lightweight'**  
**Perception: {6} 'Alert Coyote'**  
**Endurance: {7} 'Tough-as-nails'**  
**Charisma: {5} 'Substitute Teacher'**  
**Intelligence: {6} 'Gifted'**  
**Agility: {5} 'Under Control'**  
**Luck: {7} 'Lucky 7'**

**SKILLS**  
**Barter:40 {Tag Skill}**  
**Energy Weapons: 19**  
**Explosives: 20**  
**Guns: 40 {Tag Skill}**  
**Lockpick: 20**  
**Medicine: 20**  
**Melee Weapons: 14**  
**Repair: 20**  
**Science: 20**  
**Sneak: 20**  
**Speech: 20**  
**Survival: 41 {Tag Skill}**  
**Unarmed: {20}**

**TRAITS**  
**{Small Frame}**  
**{Trigger Discipline}**

**PERKS**  
**{Swift Learner}**  
**{Rapid Reload}**

**KARMA: Neutral**

**ITEMS**

  
**WEAPONS**  
**Varmint Rifle {+Night Scope}**  
**.357 Revolver**  
**9mm Pistol {+Silencer}**  
**APPAREL**  
**Vault 21 Jumpsuit {Wearing}**  
**Leather Armor**  
**NCRCF Ballistic Vest**  
**AID**  
**7 Stimpacks {2 Expired}**  
**1 Doctor's Bag**  
**3 Sunset Sasparillas**  
**4 boxes of Sugar Bombs**  
**2 boxes of Junk food**  
**1 Stealth Boy**  
**MISC**  
**1 Duffle Bag**  
**1 Vault-Tec Snowglobe {Goodsprings}**  
**10 Distinctive cigarette butts**

**Bottle caps:150**


	7. I Fought the Law (and Everybody Died) II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaand we're back, after a slight delay. Hope you enjoy!

Ringo watched as Niner and Sam's biplane swooped down towards the runway, slowing as it descended. When the plane had finally landed, Niner extracted himself from the cockpit, then helped Sam get out. They stumbled away from the plane, their faces pale like a pair of corpses.

"Sam, Niner! What happened? you two look like you've just seen a ghosts."

They stared at him for a minute, then at each other, then off in the distance, avoiding his gaze. Finally, Sam spoke up.

"N-ipton. It was....Fire-It-"

Niner took over. "We....saw Nipton. It caught on fire, was burning down."

Sam turned around. "It still is, look." She jabbed a finger out at the horizon.

Ringo stepped forward, squinting his eyes into the distance, trying to see what she was looking at. Then he saw it. Barely visible, but it was there. A bright light against an otherwise ink-black sky, black smoke pouring out of it.

"Oh. Well, that's....sometimes this happens, especially in frontier towns, with all that wood and such. Probably somebody accidentally left their stove on too long. Nothing we can do about it."

Niner and Sam exchanged glances.

"Yeah." Sam said. "Probably just an accident."

Niner nodded, "Yeah. probably. We're just gonna...head to bed, now."

And off they stumbled, unsteady and unsure.

* * *

Sam stumbled through the vast desert, sands stretching out into the horizon as far as the eye could see. A dust storm swirled around her, painting the sky orange. A dust filter protected her lungs, and made her every breath sound like she was rasping. she clung tightly to her duster, a yellow 21 painted on the back of it. She had been doing this for hours, vision pointed squarely ahead and down.

Suddenly, after a indeterminate time, she looked up, and breathed in. In front of her, a tornado was ripping across the landscape, picking up entire sand dunes and throwing them back out of it's swirling vortex.

Sam began stumbling back in panic, before falling backwards into the sands.

"What-?"

she looked around wildly as she pulled herself up.

"Wait, _where_ am I? How did I get here? What am I wearing?" She looked down, and realized she was clutching a sniper rifle in her hands. She promptly dropped it.

Behind her, a gruff voice spoke. "Some call this place Urzikstan. Others, Qurac, or Wadiya , or...New Vegas. It's...everywhere. And ...nowhere."

She spun around. "Who was that? Who-"

"As a a hyperstition, it's neither real nor unreal. Rather, it's a fiction which makes itself real. I call it-"

She spun around again. "Whe-"

"Corner of your eye, darlin'. Where you don't want to look, where you never want to look."

Right in her ear this time.

She slowly turned around, and let out a shriek of suprise.

Standing right behind her, there he was.

"I call it the occupied desert." White trench coat. Face obscured by a white fedora. In his hands, a bone-white 44. Magnum revolver

* * *

 _Two men in guard uniforms sit on the rooftop of the central building of the NCR Correctional Facility, sipping lukewarm beer from pre-war bottles, staring out at the Mojave, and reminiscing on old times. Suddenly, a object cuts through the wind, moving too fast to see. The men stand up out of their plastic in shock, and then watch as a mushroom of smoke and fire emerges from a distance away. Three more explosions light up the night sky as the men rush down a ladder into the building to rouse their sleeping comrades for war._

* * *

_Three figures slip away from the burning corpse of Nipton, one bridal-carrying another in her arms. They negotiate passage through Jackal territory, and slowly climb the big hill to the Mojave Outpost. The leader stumbles under the legs of the Unification Monument, and manages to get out "Legion...Legion hit Nipton", before collapsing to her knees and passing out._

* * *

_NCR soldiers, stationed in the town of Nelson, are caught off guard as a swarm of Roman uniforms overrun the camp. Undergarrisoned and undersupplied, the soldiers are slaughtered en-masse by the Legion. Those who survive are thrown into the rapids of the Colorado River, or else crucified and left to die._

* * *

_The NCR makes a very poor judgement call, and hires an idiot with sunglasses to fix their solar plant._

* * *

"Mainly because, well it's defining characteristics are, it's occupied, and it's a desert." As the man spoke, Sam watched a platoon of NCR soldiers stumble across the sands, appearing from nowhere, and then disappearing into the sands.

"Who are you? How did I get here?"

"I'm no-one. just...a stranger. And you were already here, you were just looking at it wrong."

"I...I'm dreaming, aren't I?" The man shrugged. "If you want to call it that. More like a vision quest."

She furrowed her brow. "Earlier you said this was Vegas."

"And?"

"This isn't-this looks nothing like Vegas! Vegas is-Vegas has...people, towns, communities." The man nodded. "Yes ,and, somewhere in these shifting sands, you'll find them. this is a pyschic terrain, young lady. It's landscape isn't defined by logic but by emotion. By anxiety, in particular."

Suddenly, the howling winds grew louder, the winds grew darker, the sand darkened out the sky.

"What's happening?!" Sam shouted as the ground beneath her began to shift and crack. She scrambled off in an attempt to reach steady ground, the entire desert reshaping itself as she did.

"I need to show you." the man responded suddenly.

"Show me what? Can it wAAAItTT-?!" Suddenly, a mass of squid-like black creatures began to pour out of the ground.

"No." The man turned around. "Follow me."

* * *

_The Correctional Facility readies itself to fight. Those Powder Gangers still stationed outside the compound are called back, as the NCR, aided by the Goodsprings militia, and by a ghoul lady followed by a sentry bot and a protectron, suddenly find themselves quickly liberating the half of the town formerly under Power Gangers control._

* * *

She sprinted through the swarm of squid-creatures, trying to catch up him as he strolled away.

"What were those? Where are we going?"

"New Vegas, if you fail."

"If I fail? What does that mean?" Around them, everything suddenly calmed. The window stopped blowing.T

he ground finally settled down. Sam found herself standing in front of a wooden shack. They were somewhere outside of Nipton. The Mojave was in a bad way. A rust-red cloud hung over it, interspersed by the flicker of brilliant blue lightning storms . New Vegas, the jewel of the wastes, lay in ruins, the once mighty tower of the Lucky 38 lying smashed and strewn across the city, like a beached whale. Giant hexagonal columns smashed into the towns off the north-west. The Colorado River looked...off, somehow, and was surrounded by dense patches of greenery, thriving like nothing in the Mojave ever could. And near Black Mountain, she could faintly make out-

"Are those...giant brahmin?"

The man nodded solemnly. "Borous's man-eating Battle Brahmins. Not even the worst of the creatures that currently stalk the Mojave."

"I-I don't understand."

"You don't need to." the man sighed. "Just know this, Courier Six.

If y-"

"SAM!"

She spun around. The voice sounded like it was coming from all around them. "Ringo? W-Where are you, man?" "

SAM! GET UP!"

* * *

And just like that I woke up on Doc Mitchell's couch, drenched in a pool of my own sweat, with Ringo standing above me and shaking me awake.

"C'mon Sam, wake up!" "W-Whaz happenin..?"

"The Powder Gangers, kid. They're almost here."

"Whaaaaaaa-"

"Goodsprings, Sam, they're marching here, to Goodsprings. One of our scouts saw them coming about a half hour ago. We need you in a biplane, and we need you now. Drink this-" -he shoved a boiling hot mug of black coffee in my hands- "and get dressed. I'll see you by the gas station in ten minutes."

* * *

Roughly ten minutes, I was slipping into the backseat of a biplane, trying to will my brain out of groginess, and in the land of living. Niner was closing his seatbelt, no doubt in a similar mood as me.

In the other plane sat Ringo, with Easy Pete behind him.

"Right, so, here's the plan." Ringo yelled out. "We get up in the air, search for those Powder Gangers, hit them with the mini-nukes, and then if there's any left, we'll rain down whatever other explosives we got left. Once, slash if we run out, we'll fly back to Goodsprings and let the militia mop up whoever's left. Got it, everybody?" A chorus of "Yup!"s and "Got it!"s filled the air, and then we were off, planes turning onto the cracked blacktop of the main road, and then launching up into the air once they'd gathered enough speed.

Our planes flew on opposing sides of the road from Goodsprings to Jean, me and Pete's eyes glued to the ground, scanning for any sign of the bastards in blue uniforms. Niner saw them before I did.

"Up ahead!" He shouted. Faintly, through the early morning fog, I saw them emerging. As we passed overhead, I picked up the single mini-nuke in the plane, and dropped it overhead, as Easy Pete did the same with his.

The two found their mark on the vast rows of men, hitting about 20 feet apart from each other, wiping out wide swaths of the army. Columns of men begin to peel from the main pack, desperately sprinting away, looking for any kind of cover. As I readied a hand grenade, the plane suddenly begin to tilt to the left, and then careen to the right. As we spun about in the air, I grabbed tight hold of the box of explosives, not letting a single one slip out.

"Niner, what the hell, man?!" "Powder Ganger on the wing!" "What?!" I glanced up. On the left wing, the dead body of a Powder Ganger slipped off the plane, and smashed into the ground, violently exploding into a bloody red mess of body parts.

"Oh, gross!" I laughed, slightly hysterically, and chucked a volley of grenades onto the Power Gangers, raining death upon them. As I did, I noticed that some of the men were pointing their weapons straight up in the sky.

"Oh fuck. Niner-!" The sky filled with the deafening sound of 40mm grenades exploding around us, plasma shots nearly missing the plane. Niner pulled some serious aerial ninja moves, doing a barrel roll as I held on for dear life.

As we stabilized, I begin lighting and tossing sticks of dynamite, having quickly burnt through the grenades. And then-

One of the Powder Ganger's grenades landed in my seat, and-

In a flash, I grabbed it, and chucked it out into the air, and-

-the grenade exploded about ten feet away, blowing one of the wings of our biplane clean off.

Niner struggled with the controls, the plane turning around to Goodsprings as it begin to fall to the ground. "Throw the whole fuckin' lot!" He shouted, frantically.

"Wha-?" I glanced down at the explosives. "O-Oh!" I grabbed a powder charge inside it, and smacked it's sensor module. As the charge begin beeping, I hurtled the entire box back behind me.

"C'mon, slow down!" Niner yelled, slapping the dash in frustation, as we hurtled downwards towards the west part of town.

As the powder charge exploded in the distance, setting off a chain of explosives that echoed through the dawn, our biplane smashed clear through the ceiling of the abandoned Goosprings schoolhouse, rafters ripping it apart as it did. This provided enough stopping power to ensure that, as our plane seats slammed onto the rotting wood floor, tossing us out, we survived relatively intact. I scrambled to my legs. "Niner?!"

I heard a groan from behind me, and spun around, rushing towards Niner's bruised body.

"Niner?!!" He lay across the floor. "Oh god, please tell me you're alive!" I knelt down besides him.

He wearily opened his eyes. "Yes, although honestly, I kinda wish I wasn't at this moment." I laughed in disbelief, before engulfing him in a hug. "Oh, thank fucking god." I muttered, mouth pressed again his shoulder.

"Ahh!-Okay, hugging, we're hugging. Y'know, Sam, still kinda bruised, so if you could-"

I let go. "S-Sorry. You scared me, is all."

He pulled himself to his feet-"I'm fine. Let's call Ringo, see how he and Pete are doing."-and begin stumbling towards the dashboard of the plane (strewn atop several desk, microphone dangling a few feet from the ground. He grabbed it, and pressed a button on the side.

"Ringo? Y'hear me?" The speakers cracked alive.

"H **##@#** ring y **#@#** ou l-l-loud and clear! M **####** eeee and Pe **#@** te ar **####** hea-heading b **#####@#@#** r **#@###** now!" Ringo's static-filled voice rang out.

" **#@##** Ho **#$#@** w's **S#$#$** am **@@**?!"

Niner glanced at me. "Alive and well, mate!"

"Ex **##@#@** trem **#@#@** ly gl-gl-glad to **@#** h **@#@** ear it!"

* * *

This time, it was me and Niner's turn to greet Ringo and Pete(whom we gingerly helped out of the plane) as they landed and got out.

Niner spoke first. "How many of the Powder Gangers did we take out?"

Ringo chew his lip as he thought. "About two-thirds, roughly. With the help from Sloan and Primm, the militia should be able to take out whoever's left pretty easily. 'Specially since we gave 'em a good rattling."

I spoke up. "Is that it, then? I can't imagine that the Powder Gangers have that many men left."

Ringo shrugged. "I'm sure some of them will go into hiding, flee deeper into the Mojave to avoid the NCR. But that's the end of the the Powder Gangers as a group of any note in the region."

* * *

A few hours later, the 'Northwest Alliance of the Mojave' stumbled into town, a massive impromptu army, led by Sunny Smiles, with a dozen or so prisoners trailing behind them. In the next few days, the abandoned NCR Correctional Facility was occupied by the militia, and the prisoner logs used to decide who Goodsprings gave back to the NCR, and who was allowed to integrate into the town. The population of Goodsprings swelled, as former debt prisoners and petty thieves became farmers, gecko hunters, and scavengers.

The NCRCF was then transferred back to the NCR, who replaced the railroad work-release program with one that involved manufacturing arms and munitions for the Army. The NCR also begin deploying a sizable contingent of troops along the I-15, with outposts in Primm and Sloan, at the cost of further stretching it's available forces across the region.

With Quarry Junction open again, the NCR also resumed hauling limestone across the Mojave, to be used to rebuild Boulder City. Niner, having found 'his' motorbike in the NCRCF, begin repairing it's engine, with me helping to scavenge the necessary materials from around the local area. Niner and I also helped to collect the parts from the destroyed biplane, and helped to began it's re-construction. Since the planes were powered by motorcycle engines, Niner was able transfer the intact one to using fusion energy, instead of the homemade maize biofuel that they had been running on.

After teaching Sunny Smiles how to fly it, Ringo(who insisted on giving me a small bag of caps before he left) and her departed the town, landing at the Crimson Caravan to considerable awe, before Ringo turned it over to Sunny, who flew it back to Goodsprings. The biplane now made up the entirety of the 'Goodsprings Airforce', and would be joined by it's sister in a month or so.

Me and Niner packed up our things, filling the saddlebags of the motorcycle, which he informed me was named 'The Red Lady', and made plans to head to Primm, Niner insisting that "I can't, in good conscience, allow a 16-year old girl who has recently suffered severe head trauma to travel across the Mojave unaccompanied." Whatever, he's only like 20, at most.

* * *

In the Goodsprings saloon, I said my goodbyes to the townsfolk I had gotten to know, and sipped a Sunset on the porch, as Niner loaded the last of our things into the Lady's saddlebags. We slowly trundled out of the town, waving goodbye behind us, as the sun began to set into the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the Goodspring arc is completed. As you've probably noticed, I've been deviating from canon quite a bit, just to keep things interesting. Going to start introducing more characters and plot lines from here out now that I've established Sam more.


End file.
